


Olympic Tryouts (part 1)

by jennamacaroni



Series: Olympic Tryouts [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennamacaroni/pseuds/jennamacaroni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana and Brittany have been rivals in the college hockey world for the past four years.  now they’re both at Olympic tryouts to play on the same team and Boston and Minnesota just don’t get along, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olympic Tryouts (part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i’m a big hockey fan and my team is in the playoffs so i’ve got a lot of hockey feels. and i finally have felt some inspiration to write with the glee promo garbage so here’s part 1 of who knows? parallels to Miracle because that movie is awesome.
> 
> also, i write this on my tumblr (jennamacaroni.tumblr.com) so i may not be very good at keeping this account up-to-date, but i'll try my best!

Santana arrived in Colorado Springs the day before tryouts so she had time to settle and get focused for the early morning start. She dumped her bags into her assigned dorm room slightly out of breath, propping four sticks into the far corner and grateful she had the tiny space to herself for now and first dibs on the bed by the window.

The Opening Ceremonies were just shy of seven months away and she had come to her first Olympic hockey tryout in the best shape of her life. Now all she had to do was play her game, skate hard and earn the spot she deserved.

Santana looked down at her watch and wondered how long she would have to herself before her roommate arrived. When she got notice of the assignment the previous week, Santana actually groaned and tore the paper right in half on the spot. What cruel hand of fate had matched her with the star center of her most hated rival? And during Olympic tryouts, no less? She couldn’t afford to get in a fight on the first day before they could get out on the ice. Even if it was a goal by Pierce off an uncalled hook and turnover that dashed Santana’s hopes for a National Championship the previous year. They had been rivals for longer though, squaring off four years running during the regular season and twice in the Frozen Four. The only consolation for the devastating end of her senior season was that Santana had come away only a few votes in front of Brittany Pierce in the all-American voting for their position.

From their time on the ice together, it had never been more clear that Boston and Minnesota hockey players just really don’t mix. A lot of off-puck shoving, a stray slash here and there while the ref wasn’t looking, and there was that one minor scuffle that put them both in the penalty box junior year with five minute fighting majors.

The rooming assignment was going to be interesting to say the least.

——-

Santana hums along to Fleetwood Mac while perched at the end of her bed, grabbing the first stick and peeling the tape on the blade away, then methodically reapplying a fresh job. Suddenly there’s fumbling outside the door and jiggling of the handle before a tall blonde and a bag nearly her own size tumble into the room. Brittany is laughing loudly at herself, deep belly laughs that bounce around the room like rubber balls.

The radiant smile and moment of eye contact disarms Santana instantly. Her intimidating facade falters and Santana grasps for words, only managing a distracted “uhhh..” because Brittany’s eyes look a whole lot more crisp and crystal without a hockey mask in between. The smile is knocked from Brittany’s face as she extends to her full height and sizes you up. “Lopez,” she states. Santana doesn’t miss the way her right eyebrow cocks up with the acknowledgement.

“Pierce.”

“I forgot to congratulate you on the all-American nod, by the way. Although it is a shame they don’t include post-season performance in that voting, I’d say,” Brittany deadpans, hauling her bags onto her bed and throwing open the zipper.

The anger licks at Santana quickly. “How about you shut the fuck up about last season, never bring it up in front of me again and maybe we can get through the next two weeks without you in the hospital,” Santana growls, standing up sharply and throwing down the stick.

Brittany pauses unpacking and pivots toward Santana. “You go ahead and guarantee me a trip to the hospital just like you guaranteed your championship. That turned out in your favor, didn’t it?” her voice oozing with thick sarcasm.

At that Santana launches herself across the room, throwing a hard shoulder into Brittany, grabbing a hold of the neck of her tshirt and yanking her forward. The shirt tears and Santana’s swinging fist connects with the bread and butter of Brittany’s cheekbone with a twack. Brittany reels back then throws her full momentum at Santana, knocking the breath from her and unloading her onto the floor behind.

“FIGHT” comes from the hallway as three players tear into the room, catching a fist mid-swing and pulling Brittany from Santana roughly.

Sanatana jumps to her feet but Quinn is there to throw an arm over Santana’s shoulder and across her chest, locking her into a vice. “Save it, Santana,” Quinn whispers sharply, “it’s over.”

Quinn had her fair share of fiery Santana “Snixx” Lopez going on four years now and knew Santana was going to have a nearly impossible time letting what happened in the finals go. But she couldn’t help but feel the slightest satisfaction that Santana had gotten in a good swing.

“What, Quinn?! That pansy over there cheap shots me, scores off the turnover and steals the ring right off my finger? Then has the audacity to come in here and bring that shit up in front of me? She deserves worse than the imprint of my knuckles in the side of her pretty face,” Santana fumes, chest rising sharply, glaring at the back of Brittany’s head as she is pulled from the room.

“Never again, Pierce!” Santana throws out warningly.

It’s only when Santana and Quinn hear a distant “fuck off, Lopez,” that Quinn shakes her head and releases her grip.

“Just try and get through tonight and onto the ice tomorrow and hope none of the coaches find out about this. From what I hear, Coach Taylor has no patience for fighting within the team,” she chides. “No distractions, remember? This is our time, YOUR time, and don’t let her take that from you too.”

“I know, I know, she just gets under my skin in the worst way. I can’t explain it, even. And that smug fucking smirk I just want to slap it into next Tuesday.”

"Well, you’re going to have to either get over it or take your anger out on the ice," Quinn states, turning to leave the room.

"Never look back, never give up,” Santana chants, fistbumping Quinn on her way out. She’s in for a long two weeks and potentially seven months if both her and Brittany Pierce are on the same ice and sharing the same room.


End file.
